


A Study in Benevolence

by Seanbiggerstaffrox



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: First Time, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort Sex, Incest, M/M, No penetration, Oneshot, Porn with Feelings, Stiles says Daddy, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seanbiggerstaffrox/pseuds/Seanbiggerstaffrox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Stiles clings to his father all the way home. He keeps him wrapped in a tight embrace and he crawls into bed with him and he kisses him. His dad kisses him back, some unspoken conversation passing between them...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The sheriff comforts Stiles after the nightmare of the past month. (Post 3B.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Benevolence

When it’s all over and the nogitsune’s gone, Stiles barely realizes it - he’s too sick. Whatever the nogitsune did to him (and he ignores the voice in his head that tells him that maybe it wasn’t the nogitsune, maybe he really does have what his mom had) it’s supremely messed up his system – his whole body hurts and he can’t stop shaking. He feels like he’s freezing to death from the inside out and it’s not until his dad’s arms wrap around him that warmth starts to make it’s presence known. 

Stiles clings to his father all the way home. He keeps him wrapped in a tight embrace and he crawls into bed with him and he kisses him. His dad kisses him back, some unspoken conversation passing between them where they decide that this is okay, that they need it, that it’ll only happen once or maybe more, and however it plays out is fine, because they’ve got each other. They’ve always got each other. 

Stiles whimpers into the kiss as a calloused palm moves under his shirt, tracing his abdomen. He brings his hands down to the front of his dad’s uniform and tries to unfasten the shirt, but his fingers are shaking too much and he can’t work them properly. His brows furrow in frustration and he breaks away from his dad’s mouth, glaring down at his hands and trying to undo the top button. 

“Dammit.” He curses, fighting the tremors in his limbs. 

“Shh, kiddo, I got you.” Sheriff says, his thumb stroking over Stiles’ nape. “Just let me take care of everything tonight, okay?” 

_Tonight._ Stiles wonders if that means there will be more nights and his stomach flips. He bites his lip, nodding his head and letting his dad push his hands away. The sheriff sits up, undoing the buttons on his top, and Stiles watches with rapt attention, anticipation boiling in his gut as pale skin and a white undershirt come into view.

His dad pulls off his beige button-up, tossing it to the side. Despite the sheriff’s promise, Stiles shifts into a sitting position, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He’s still trembling – exhaustion and the trauma of the last month making him feel weak and useless – and he can barely lift his arms. His father finishes pulling his tank top off and frowns, grabbing Stiles’ wrists and leaning in close. 

“Stiles, let me take care of you.” He says earnestly, face millimeters from his son’s. 

Stiles inhales slowly, heart pounding in his chest as he stares up at the sheriff. It sounds so appealing, to let his dad guide him, nurture him, fulfill him. “Okay.” Stiles breathes. His dad’s arm loops around his waist, sliding under cotton fabric and stroking across bare skin. The sheriff’s lips press against Stiles and he pushes him back onto the bed. 

Stiles closes his eyes and sighs into the kiss, feeling the shaking settle. The sheriff’s touch eases the tremors and he has enough strength to hold onto his father’s arms, fingertips latching onto firm muscle. His shirt’s pushed up and his nerves spark pleasantly when the sheriff presses against him and he feels the brush of his father’s exposed abs. His dad’s soft around the edges, maturity granting him wrinkles and love handles. Stiles thinks he’s beautiful. 

Rough palms, worn by time and hard work, stroke up Stiles’ sides, lifting his shirt, and Stiles gasps against his father’s lips. The sheriff pulls away, gently extracting Stiles from his top. His fingertips trace up Stiles’ biceps as he drags the material up, pulling it over Stiles' arms and wrists and letting it fall onto the pillows as he stares down at his son’s bared chest. 

Stiles blinks his eyes open, looking up at his father and blushing when the sheriff’s gaze traces his body. His father looks almost reverent as he reaches down, leaving a burning trail across Stiles’ torso where he caresses the naked flesh. 

Stiles almost missed this. Stiles almost _died_. 

The shaking starts again and Stiles lifts a trembling hand, pressing it against his father’s cheek. The sheriff looks at him and he must read the distress on his face, because he’s diving forward, pressing a desperate kiss against his son’s mouth. The hand on Stiles’ torso moves to his hip as the sheriff’s body presses against his and Stiles whimpers, hands wrapping around his dad’s neck and body arching into the embrace. He lets out a quiet “Oh” when he feels his father’s groin shift against his. 

The sound seems to spark something in the sheriff, whose mouth becomes more eager and whose hand moves down to grip at the back of Stiles’ thigh, holding him more firmly and insistently as the sheriff rocks his hips forward. Stiles lets out a small moan, broken almost as quickly as it starts, and gasps into his father’s mouth. 

“Dad.” He pants, feeling the sheriff’s chest pressed solidly against his, a weight that becomes firmer on each inhale. The planes of his father’s body are intoxicating and the man feels so _warm._ Everything else seems cold in comparison, and Stiles arches insistently against his father, aching for his touch. He never wants to be out of his embrace.

The sheriff’s mouth breaks from Stiles’ and trails over his jaw then down his neck. He lavishes the flesh and Stiles’ head falls back, breath hitching and fingers threading through the sheriff’s hair. 

“Daddy.” Stiles gasps and he almost pauses, almost thinks ‘what the hell did I just say’ but his dad keeps going, doesn’t even blink at the word. Maybe the sheriff missed it. Stiles certainly hopes he did. 

The sheriff kisses down his chest, feeling the race of Stiles’ heart under his lips. He traces over a nipple and Stiles jolts, breath catching. The sheriff wonders if Stiles has ever been touched there – has ever touched himself there. He realizes that he’s still not sure whether Stiles has even had sex. 

“How far do you want to take this?” The sheriff asks, lips brushing Stiles’ skin.

Stiles swallows thickly, fingers carding through his father’s locks. “All the way.” Stiles confesses. “I want all of it.” And he’s not sure if he’s talking about sex anymore, because he wants everything his dad can give him and more. He wants them to last forever. 

“Stiles,” The sheriff starts. “Have you ever…” He trails off awkwardly. They never talk about sex. Ever since the (Very Awkward) Talk when Stiles was 13, they’ve hedged around the subject. Sheriff sighs and shakes his head. “Have you ever had sex?” He asks point blank, because it’s ridiculous to be shy about it when he can feel Stiles’ hard-on press against his pelvis. 

Stiles blushes and bites his lip. He glances down at his dad, brown eyes locking on bright green, and his stomach flips. “Not really.” He admits. “Mostly just kissing. I’ve fooled around a bit, but I’ve never…nothing like this.” 

“Maybe we should take it slow.” The sheriff suggests and shocks of panic slam through Stiles.

He wants to crack a joke - shield himself behind some smartass comeback like “It’s a bit late for that” – but he’s too tired. Keeping up the sarcastic attitude when he feels like he’s falling apart is _exhausting_ and he just needs something genuine for a change. He needs his dad. 

“Dad, please.” Stiles begs, feeling his existence flicker and twist in the moment it takes the sheriff to answer. 

“Okay.” The eldest Stilinski whispers. When their lips crash together again, Stiles clutches desperately at his father and a blanket of relieved tears blur his vision. 

The sheriff’s tender when he undresses Stiles, slipping his jeans off carefully and soothing his son’s shivers with painfully gentle touches. Green eyes linger over the teen’s naked frame, taking him in, and Stiles blushes, a whimper slipping past his throat. He arches up into warm hands and strokes his fingers through his dad’s hair, needing to keep some connection with the man. It hurts too much when he lets go. 

His heart leaps in his chest when the sheriff’s hands slip down to his own pants, and Stiles’ breath comes more quickly, anticipation bubbling in his gut. It’s almost too much when his dad’s erection springs into view, and Stiles wishes he had more strength. If he weren’t so unsteady he’d reach out and really feel his father– stroke him, caress him, taste him. 

When the man’s completely naked, Stiles is struck breathless by how gorgeous he is. Even with body hair and wrinkles, old wounds and less definition, he’s everything Stiles has ever wanted. He’s so _human_ and Stiles aches from reassurance and fear. 

“Dad.” Stiles says, voice hitching on a sob, and the sheriff moves forward, putting his hands back on his son and capturing the cry with his lips. Stiles’ limbs wrap around his father, arms looping over his shoulders and legs gripping the sheriff’s thighs. 

The eldest Stilinski allows his body to fall against his son, careful not to crush him as their naked forms press together. Stiles’ breath catches and he lets out a surprised whimper when their cocks come into contact. The sheriff shivers at the noise, nipping at his son’s bottom lip and rolling his hips. Stiles’ fingers dig into his shoulder blades and the teen twitches into the movement, legs tightening their hold. 

Stiles isn’t sure where his father’s taking this, how far they’ll go, but he doesn’t let himself worry about it, focusing instead on the simple beauty of just moving together. It feels good having skin against skin and the press of their groins is a distinctly pleasant sensation that warms Stiles, cuts away at the pain with something nice. 

The sheriff kisses down to his son’s throat and Stiles lets his head fall back against the pillows. His scalp digs into the cushion as he bares his neck, lips parting on a gasp when wet heat presses against his sensitive flesh. Teeth trail over the nerves and Stiles jolts, lashes fluttering and tongue sneaking out to wet his mouth, feeling the kiss-bruised fabric of his lips. 

“Oh.” Stiles exclaims, shuddering and clamping his arms around his father’s shoulders, clutching him close as his dick throbs, trapped between their stomachs. The sheriff’s grinding is more focused and purposeful and Stiles can feel himself carried away with the motion. One of his dad’s arms moves down, stroking across Stiles’ spine and coming to rest against his tailbone. He uses the position to leverage Stiles into the roll of his hips and Stiles lets out a staggered moan, quivering under his father. “Daddy.” He pants before he can stop himself. 

His dad shifts, making to move away and Stiles panics. 

“Sorry, sorry, don’t leave, I didn’t mean to-”

“Stiles, I wasn’t leaving.” His dads says, interrupting him. “I was just going to…use my mouth.” The sheriff explains and Stiles blinks in surprise, freezing and looking down at his father’s lips. 

“Oh.” Stiles says, heart pounding in his chest. 

“Why’d you think I was going to leave?” Sheriff asks. 

“I keep saying…you know…” Stiles mutters.

“‘Daddy’?”

Stiles blushes. “I can’t seem to stop.”

“Stiles, it’s fine.” The sheriff lifts his hand, stroking his thumb across Stiles’ cheek. “ _You’re_ fine.” 

They stare at each other for a moment, the space between them haunted by just how close Stiles came to being not fine. 

“I love you.” Stiles says. 

“I love you too.” The sheriff replies earnestly, then they’re kissing again, desperate and heady. 

“No,” Stiles gasps, hands tightening their hold when the sheriff makes to move back again. He’d love his father’s mouth on him, he really would, but they’ll save that for another time. “Just…just like this.” Stiles pants out, rocking up into his dad. 

“Okay.” Sheriff says, and they’re rubbing together, frenzied tension crackling through the air. 

Stiles whimpers, heat prickling at his nerves and dick leaking. He can feel sticky slickness accumulating between him and his father, their members trading liquid pleasure that slides over their flesh and drips onto Stiles’ stomach. He thinks for a ridiculous moment about scents and scent-marking and having the lingering smell of his father’s cum on him, and he wonders if it’s something like being claimed or owned. 

“Daddy.” Stiles whispers. His body shifts on the bed as his dad moves on top of him, letting off quick puffs of air against his neck and cooling the sweat-soaked skin. Stiles feels torn between wishing he could do more and loving the feeling of being trapped under his father. It’s almost like being fucked, though it’s probably more like making love, because the sheriff’s achingly passionate and heartbreakingly tender as he takes his son closer to the edge, and Stiles feels moisture collect in his eyes. “Dad. _Daddy_. Oh!” Stiles moans, tensing and shuddering. 

“Are you…?” The sheriff half-asks. 

Stiles nods, biting his lip and whimpering as his cock twitches and his hips surge up against his dad. His father aids him through it, caressing him and offering light friction with gentle ruts. Stiles releases his lip and cries out. He arches back against the bed, breath hitching and voice wavering as his cock throbs, spilling cum between them. 

“Beautiful.” The sheriff says and Stiles doesn’t think he meant to say it but Stiles clings to the sentiment, letting out a quiet sob and shaking. He relaxes, falling limply onto the bed and trying to calm his breathing. “Shh, you’re okay, Stiles.” His father says and Stiles realizes he’s letting out small whimpers. 

“Did you..?” Stiles trails off, matching his dad’s fractional question. 

“Not yet.” The sheriff says and Stiles blinks his eyes open. 

“I want to touch you.” He confesses. He lifts his hand, which vibrates unsurely in the air, and his dad looks doubtful. “Dammit.” Stiles says, glaring at his fingers. He flexes them then tries to hold steady, but he still wavers, quivering like a leaf. He’s so frustrated he thinks he might wail, but then the sheriff’s hand is wrapping around his and his father’s pulling his arm down. 

“Together.” The sheriff says and Stiles breathes out a sigh of relief, nodding. 

His father props himself up, and Stiles stares down in fascination as his fingers are wrapped around the eldest Stilinski’s cock. It’s warm and heavy in his hand, and his breath stutters to a halt, heart pounding in his chest as he feels the precum smeared across his dad’s member. He gets his lungs working again and breathes out a fragile noise of pleased surprise when his hand starts moving, stroking his dad. The sheriff’s grip is strong around Stiles’ feeble one, manipulating his son’s palm over his cock in sure and steady increments. 

“Stiles.” The sheriff gasps and Stiles feels his world grind to a halt. He looks up at his father, taking in the flushed, pleasured expression – furrowed eyebrows and tightly shut eyes. Stiles gathers his strength and lifts his head, pressing a kiss to his father’s jaw. The sheriff pries his eyelids open, green peering at him in surprise, and they gaze at each other for a moment. Stiles’ dad leans in again and Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of the sheriff’s lips on his. 

His father increases the pace of his strokes, and Stiles can feel how close he is. Eager anticipation forms in his gut and Stiles listens as his dad’s groans and gasps get trapped between their mouths. The sheriff breaks away, hiding his face in Stiles’ hair as he stiffens. Stiles feels him shake. Inside their joined grip, his father’s cock twitches, and Stiles licks his lips, looking down between them and watching the desperate pull of their hands across his dad’s member. The sheriff’s hips undulate quickly and Stiles’ dick gives a frail throb of interest. 

Sheriff comes, moaning his son’s name, and Stiles floods with warmth, body thrumming in satisfaction as his father spills onto him, coating his stomach. When the sheriff gets his bearings, he moves onto his side, wrapping Stiles up in his arms and manipulating them under the covers. Stiles buries himself in his father’s arms, tucking his face into his dad’s chest and relishing the feeling of being safe and loved. 

“Dad?” Stiles asks after a while. 

“Yeah?” His dad says. 

“We’re okay, right?”

There’s a pause as the sheriff processes the question. “Stiles, we’ve always been okay.”

“Not so sure about that.” Stiles mutters.

The sheriff pulls back a little, looking down at his son. “We’ve had our rough patches. I expect we’ll have a lot more, but Stiles, I will always love you. No matter what.” 

Stiles glances up at his dad, taking in the serious expression on his face. “You didn’t just do this because I wanted it, right?” Stiles asks. 

“Would I be a better father if I said ‘yes.’?” The sheriff asks. 

“Maybe.” Stiles mutters.

The sheriff sighs. “I wanted it too, Stiles. Now will you please get some sleep?”

Ordinarily, Stiles would protest, but it’s hardly an ordinary situation and lord knows Stiles could use the rest. Instead, he just offers his dad a small smile and tucks himself back in the sheriff’s arms. He figures anything else that needs to be dealt with can wait till the morning. 

“I love you, dad.”

“I love you too, Stiles.”

_The End_


End file.
